as you know, I'm no gentleman
by velvetviolence
Summary: James takes the initiative. Rocketshipping, Smut, Modern AU.


First fic in almost 10 years. Please leave concrit and prompts for more sexy stories about these two. Title taken from a line in EP008, "The Path to the Pokemon League." Rocketshipping, Modern AU.

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Jessie is late. Jessie is _never_ late.

Confined in his navy suit, James clutches a scarlet bloom in one hand and his phone in the other. He wants to rake his fingers through his hair, but it's tied back tonight, so instead he fidgets with the phone's home button. They'd made reservations at one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in the city months ago, but James, sans Jessie, has been waiting alone at a small table for seventeen minutes.

A mixture of annoyance and fear prickles at his skin as he scans the room, avoiding the glances of the other patrons. _What if they think I've been stood up?_ he thinks, then _Jessie wouldn't do that... would she?_ then _What if something happened? What if she's hurt, oh god -_

He's about to excuse himself to call her when he hears a familiar voice somewhere above his right shoulder.

"My, don't you look sharp."

James rises immediately and whirls to face her. For a moment, he can only stare. Jessie's red hair falls in an effortless tumble over one shoulder, and the white silk slip dress she wears exposes miles of slender leg. "Wow," he manages to sigh before presenting her with the flower, kissing the cheek she offers.

"Happy anniversary, darling," he says, pulling out her chair to allow her to gracefully sink into it.

"You too, baby," Jessie smirks, taking his hand across the table. "The bouquet you sent was almost embarrassing," she teases, but James can tell that she's pleased. "My coworkers just couldn't stop staring."

He can't contain his grin. It had taken considerable effort to smuggle 100 red roses (accompanied by a card painstakingly stamped with Meowth's paw print) into Jessie's cubical before she or any of her coworkers arrived, but he'd known that she would appreciate the grand gesture. In turn, he had very much appreciated the book of Degas she had presented to him that morning, a few short minutes after waking up to her lips around his cock.

Still, Jessie's tardiness keeps him from enjoying the memory for too long. "What happened? I was beginning to worry," he asks, pouting only a little.

Jessie exhales through her teeth. "They made a last-minute decision to rewrite the whole cover story - and guess who was chosen to help with the final edits?" She laughs bitterly. "Layout's tomorrow, it's going to be a _bitch_."

"Jess, they had you help with the edits because they knew you'd do a great job. Much better than Cassidy, right?" He smirks at her and she preens, accepting the praise. Jessie had been hired as an associate editor for _Vogue_ six months ago, and the only drawback to the position was that Cassidy, her college rival, occupied the cubical to the left.

For his part, James gives tours at the Met during the day and waits tables at a 24-hour diner at night, scraping together money so he can eventually pursue a graduate degree in Art History. His parents hadn't taken it well when he announced that he would neither be attending law school back in North Carolina, nor marrying the daughter of their wealthiest client.

Their table is so small that their knees actually touch under it, and James relaxes into his seat as Jessie orders for them. He grins across at her when the waitress leaves, unable to contain his joy.

"Remember the night we met? Jessie, would you have ever imagined that we'd end up here?"

She rolls her eyes teasingly. "Never. I thought you and Biff were more than just roommates. But... here we are, aren't we?"

James takes his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Being with you, Jessie - I've never been happier. I'd like to think that's true for both of us."

"It is, James," she enthuses, clasping his hand firmly in her own. "This has been our best year yet, but the next one's going to be even better."

He can't believe how much he adores her. "I love you, Jessica. So much."

"I know," she says flirtatiously, shrugging one pale shoulder. She's still hesitant to voice her emotions, but the hint of pink in her cheeks tells him that she feels the same.

The food and wine are brought to the table in due course, but James can't concentrate on any of it. He's mesmerized by Jessie's eyes locked on his, her bell-like laugh, the way her trademark red lipstick leaves a stain on her wineglass every time she takes a sip. They speak about work for a while and then begin to imagine traveling the world together; James can't help but envision waking up beside Jessie in every new city they'd visit.

As they converse, Jessie's gaze grows more predatory, more possessive, and James feels both vulnerable and secure within her orbit. As he watches her wet her red lips with the tip of her tongue, he feels the toe of her stiletto heel glide down the back of his right calf. The provocative dual action has its desired effect; his cock hardens almost immediately, the fear of someone noticing only adding to his arousal. Ordinarily, he would let his confident girlfriend play another wicked game with him, but tonight, an unconventional impulse presents itself.

 _You know, James_ , Jessie had laughed one recent night out dancing, after he blushed when she swiveled her pelvis against his, _you could stand to be a little more assertive. A little less... gentlemanly_.

She was right, of course. Jessie was always the dominant one, always making the first move. It was Jessie who had first pressed her lips against his, Jessie who had pulled him into a closet at one of Cassidy's parties, Jessie who had handcuffed him to one post of her ridiculous canopy bed and teased him until he came all over himself at the slightest touch.

So when James notices their knees bumping under the small table and takes stock of the long, white tablecloth covering their legs, he untangles his left hand from Jessie's, snakes it under the table, and slides it confidently up her smooth thigh.

Jessie pauses mid-sentence. Her sweet James, her _good boy_ , is gripping the top of her thigh, making small circles with his thumb just below the edge of her lacy panties. She glares and he reddens, but then he suddenly swipes his thumb over the hem. To her irritation, a faint throbbing begins in her core, responding to James' caresses despite herself. _Fuck, I've got to get this back under control_ , she thinks, but then, _Just a little closer, please baby_. It's as if he can read her thoughts: his hand shifts minutely and he's stroking her center through her panties.

Jessie thinks wildly of lurching out of her chair and slapping James across the face for the entire restaurant to see, but instead, she's rooted to the spot. She narrows her eyes at him and takes another sip of wine, daring him to stop, hoping he won't. "Trust me," he says softly, and she can't help but comply. She hooks her left ankle around his right for leverage and to subtly open herself wider, giving herself over to this decadence.

James watches Jessie's face intently while working her with his left hand, massaging her soft, swollen lips through the lacy fabric. He can practically feel her slickness already, but his girlfriend manages to continue voicing her daily litany of complaints about Cassidy's ineptitude. Jessie barely touches her entrée and uncharacteristically deigns to order dessert, instead curtly requesting the check. James' pulse is beating in his ears as his fingers find Jessie's clit through the panties, lingering there.

Sweat is beginning to cling to Jessie's skin when the waitress returns with the check. "More water, please?" James requests, smirking at his girlfriend as he circles her clit with his thumb.

The waitress complies, refilling both glasses, but Jessie barely notices. She shifts in her seat as James lightly pinches her clit, and covers the resulting groan with a cough. "Here's your check, sir," the waitress says, placing the bill in front of James, and Jessie manages to roll her eyes in irritation. She opens her mouth to reprimand the woman and simultaneously feels James remove his fingers.

 _Fuck,_ she's nearly shaking with rage and so close to begging him.

James takes the opportunity to pull Jessie's thong to one side and push one finger into her delicious heat. "Actually, I've got it–" Jessie says, starting authoritative but ending on a squeak.

As Jessie scrambles within her purse and almost throws a credit card onto the table, the waitress glancing bemusedly at her flushed face, James continues his furtive mission. There's a thrill of pride in his chest as he begins a series of slow, gentle thrusts, feeling Jessie's slick silkiness all around his index finger. He loves that he can turn her on, make her feel this _good_ ; were they at home, he'd fall to his knees to please her with his lips and tongue. Jessie dismisses the waitress and gazes at James almost serenely, her anger and embarrassment submitting to pure pleasure.

When the waitress leaves, the pair drops the pretense of conversation. Jessie kicks at James' ankle insistently, and he obediently adds another finger, scissoring gently to stretch her. She relishes the sweet ache of being filled, urging his fingers deeper by pressing her ankle against his once more. Jessie takes a large swallow of wine to steady herself; she half-imagines that she can feel herself dripping onto the expensive chair. James is intoxicated by this shift in power, and he revels in the feeling of Jessie's cunt gripping his fingers with every stroke.

Abandoning her wineglass, Jessie opens her knees as wide as she dares under the tablecloth, leaning back in her chair until her ass is perched at the very edge. She feels slutty and desperate, barely keeping herself from bucking up to meet his thrusts. She wants to moan out his name, to straddle his lap and demand he take her in front of their audience, but all she can do is wait, restless, while James tenderly, _savagely_ , fucks her with his fingers. His green eyes glint as his thumbnail grazes her bare clit, and she nearly screams.

She hates the feeling of being completely at his mercy. She _hates_ it.

Sensing Jessie's frantic state, James swipes the pad of his thumb over her clit teasingly, then begins to rub in time with his thrusts. Her teeth sink into her full lower lip, and he glimpses her eyes roll back before she squeezes them tight shut. Jessie's left ankle digs into his right and her fingers grip the edge of the table, but to her credit, her slim shoulders remain steady. His cock jumps in his pants when he feels her walls growing tighter.

"That's it, Jess," he murmurs low, thrusting shallowly once, twice, and then burying his fingers deep. Jessie's hips snap to meet his hand, and he almost groans when her pussy spasms around his fingers. She doesn't make a sound, but James feels her entire body sag against his as she releases. Jessie is a goddess, all flaming hair and marble skin; he feels almost unworthy to worship her. Her eyes open to meet his, heavy-lidded and dazed, and he pumps gently in and out, bringing her back down.

When Jessie finally stills around his hand, James withdraws his fingers and helpfully adjusts her panties back into place. He drags his nails down her sweaty thigh, giving her knee an affectionate squeeze before wiping his fingers on the cloth napkin in his lap. Jessie tries to hide a shiver as James brings his left hand to his lips, leveling his gaze at her while he sucks the last bit of her juices from his knuckles.

The waitress suddenly reappears, depositing the bill on the table. Jessie grabs her card and twists to shove it into her purse, but the light flush still clinging to her cheeks doesn't escape James' notice. "How did everything taste?" their waitress asks.

James smiles at his girlfriend. "Delicious, don't you agree, dear?" Rage sparks in Jessie's blue eyes, and she can only nod wordlessly in the waitress' direction.

They rise to leave, and James offers her his arm. Jessie quickly accepts, and he's pleased to notice her knees wobbling a bit as they approach the door. He can feel her crimson nails biting into his bicep even through the jacket.

"You'll be sorry when we get home," she hisses.

James can't wait.


End file.
